Potty Conversation

Evan: Look, Mommy, I pooped!

Sure, enough, there it was sitting in the potty, but I was over that.  I picked up the plastic tub to dump it.

Evan: Mommy, wait!  What shape do you think it is?

Me: Um.  What do you think it is?

Evan: Hmmmm.  It looks like a crescent moon!

Me: I think you’re right.

Add that to the list of things I never thought I would talk about.

Evan and Sean gathered around the toilet to watch the flushing.  Evan lay down to stare at the toilet from the ground. 

Me: Evan, what are you doing?

Evan: I want to see it go down to the ground.

Me: You can’t see it because the toilet isn’t see-through.

Evan: But the poop is going into the ground?

Me: Yes, the poop and the water go into the ground to the sewer where it is taken away.

Evan: It’s dark underground.

Me: Yes. It is.

Evan: Alligators live there.

Me: No, alligators live in swamps.

Evan: No, they live underground where the poop goes.

I think there’s an uncle involved somewhere in this mess.

The Joker

The other day as I read to the boys I wrapped my knuckles on the wall.

Evan: Who’s at the door?

Me: No one. It’s just Mommy.

Sean got up from the couch and ran to the door. When he was sure I wasn’t looking, he knocked on the door.

Sean: Door? Who at door?

Me: No one, Sean. It was you.

Sean: Papa? Papa at door?

Me: No, Sean. It was you.

Sean: Dada? Dada at door?

Me: No, Sean. It was you.

Sean: Come, come. Door!

And I swear the twinkle in his eyes got brighter at the thought of tricking me into opening the door.

Me: Nice try, Sean.

Our house is a very, very nice house: or she’s rambling again

I’m starting to like this little rental house.  Sure, it looks like every other house in the block, and sure, the association is a bunch of SS officers, but the house itself is nice.  The neighborhood is nice.  Of course, I could fit the back yard in our main room (our living room/dining room/family room), and our neighbor poked his head over the wall the other day to say hi to the boys, noticing that we haven’t weeded since we moved in, which is because the rental company told us three times they were going to send someone until finally I sprayed the weeds myself two weeks ago but by then some where as tall as Evan, which wouldn’t be natural in the desert, except the people who share our back wall over water and flood our rocky backyard Every Day.  Since those weeds our so high, the weed spray doesn’t disintegrate them but gives them a slow death to release their pollen, encouraging poor Sean’s allergies, and so when I asked my dad what to do, he handed me his hoe, and I went to work hoeing for two hours every morning with many interruptions from the boys, to come to find out I finally have allergies.  It’s to those weeds.  Awesome.  Of course, I now have a vicious sore throat, a developing blister from the hoe, sore legs and arms.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah.  I like the house.  I don’t lose the boys in it like I did the other house because this one is so small.  There is a little nook close to the TV that Sean sits in, so that I have to walk all the way into the room or I miss him.  Of course, Evan has discovered the wonderful hiding spot that is under the bed, which my dad says is a good thing to know because kids often hide during a fire.  Oh, thanks Dad, all I needed to worry about was a fire on top of all my other worries.  Much Appreciated.

I like this small house because it’s easier to clean.  I only have two small bathrooms instead of three large ones.  Evan is big enough to put away his toys, even if he tries to con me into doing it for him.  The tiny kitchen is a snap to clean, especially when it doesn’t have Mexican tile that doesn’t look clean after you scrubbed it on your hands and knees.  I’m ultra organized in the pantry because it’s half the size of my old one.

With my mom’s help, I organized all the stuff in the garage to the point I have a play area in their, since we can’t fit two cars in and get the boys out of the back. I even have a set of shelves that I can now stock up on stuff at Costco and not have to buy paper towels every other week.  (Yes, yes, I started using rags too, now that they aren’t so far away from the messes.)

That’s another thing!  Everything is so close together that there’s no reason not to put things away or put of doing something because the cleaning supplies are just a short walk away.  Of course, it did take me a week to figure out how to get my steps in.  Unfortunately I’ve had to take up my husband’s bad habit of pacing while on the phone and putting one thing away at a time.  But at least I’m getting my steps, and now all I have to do is lose weight.

So in conclusion, I like my house.  But if we got a couch instead of a love seat, then we wouldn’t have any room.  I don’t know where I’ll put the Christmas tree.  If we had another child, we would burst out at the seams.  Though the office is still crying for help. 

Note: Does any one have any idea how to wrangle a husband to help organize and clean?  Maybe even go through three boxes of school work from college?

The Jump Arounds: Or my brain is melting; help me

Is any one else watching Noggin or Nickelodeon? Has any one else been subjected to the Jump Arounds that they now play every half hour?  Is any one else fears for their sanity when one of those damn songs keep playing in their head and you just can’t get it out and the husband is “borrowing” your iPod so you don’t have any music to get it out and you feel your brain slowly being eaten away?  Is it just me?  What precious information have I lost to make room for their songs to be an automatic repeat in my head?

You know, I was so good, so careful over what the boys listened to.  A couple of my friends gave them carefully screened CDs.  We never watched Barney.  If I was annoyed by the show, we didn’t watch it again like The Doodlebops.  The kid music we listened to was interesting, beautiful, and not annoying at all.  Then Nickelodeon comes along and ruins it.

I debated looking into their website and doing a little research for this post, but I have one of their songs stuck in my brain.  Does any one have an ice pick?

I also debated on hooking up a song or video to inform the readers who don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, but I assume that I would be breaking a law form the Geneva Convention for torture.  Plus I like you all too much to do that to you.  Though I think we have another extreme questioning technique or whatever the Bush lawyers called it.

I just want know why these music and TV execs think that kid’s music has to be bland, annoying, and repetitive.  And can we say out of date?  Not old school, out of date.  Because who does a lame rap segment in the middle of a song any more?  And it’s not even the black guy.  It’s the white guy.  Really.  (If I offend any one by not using names, it’s because I’m trying to block out these commercials like blocking out horrific battle scenes and cannot force myself to go to their website to find out the band members names, who do not look like kids but twenty-somethings.)

So now I’m going to drop in a CD and try to get this torture out of my head.  As for you, I am opening the floor to those who would like to complain about horrible kid music.

Goodbyes are hard

As I have mentioned before and will again, two of my cousins had boys the same year that Evan was born, and one of them had another son the same year as Sean. Broc is the oldest by four months; then comes Jacob by four days, and Evan is the youngest. Sean was born four months before Broc’s little brother Brogan. So the family is surrounded by boys, and let’s not forget the eldest by ten years, Bethany. (Can you guess who she’s the oldest sister of?*)
Saturday Broc and Brogan where over at my grandma’s house, which was a quite a treat for my boys, and they did what all boys do. Run around like crazy men, finding every toy and almost toy to play with. To add frosting on the cake, Broc owned a Batman cape and a Spiderman cape. (I know. I know. Spiderman didn’t have a cape. I guess I was the only one in the family to read comic books.) Evan and Broc chased each other in and out and around the house.
When it was time for Broc and Brogan to leave, the boys were beside themselves. “Evan, Evan, Evan, I’ve got to tell you something!” “Wait!” “Broc, Broc, I’ve got to tell you something!” “No, wait! I’ve got to tell Evan something!” “Broc, wait! I’ve got to tell you something!” After ten minutes of stalling, my cousin hauled his son into the minivan.
Broc: (from his car seat as he’s buckled in) Evan! Evan! I’ve got to tell you something.
Evan: (running to Broc) What?!
Broc: Let’s have a sleep over! Come to my house! Want to have a sleep over?!

Evan: SURE!
My cousin pulled Evan out of the minivan and handed him to me. My cousin was desperate to get a handle on the situation.
My cousin: Not today, some other time.
Evan wiggled out of my arms as my cousin climbed in the driver seat and closed the door.
Evan: (looking for a way to see Broc through tinted windows) Broc! Broc! BROC! I got to tell you something! BROC!
My dad picked Evan up and held him so that he could lean into the driver’s window and talk to Broc.
Evan: Broc! We can have a sleep over at my house tomorrow!
Broc: OK!!
Me: Why not? What’s one more boy?
My cousin: A lot. We’ll see you later.
The man pulled out of the driveway fast. Then honked his horn to a tune and drove away.
Evan: Mommy, why’d he do that?
Me: Because your uncle is funny. (or desperate to remain in control, which we know he won’t.)

 

 

*If you guessed Broc and Brogan’s older sister, you’re right! She’s the daughter from my cousins first marriage, which we won’t go into here with out charts.

Just another evening

They looked so sweet banging together matchbox cars and making a loud ruckus that not all the shushing in the world could keep quiet.  But I only glanced up in between words from the game on my phone.  Mat, head, sad, man, bed.  Oh, look, I got honey.  I’m pretty pathetic for a writer and a holder of a bachelor degree in English.  Then the murmur of how those loud boys should leave the room because she can’t hear anything, which might have more to do with her seventy-four year old ears than the loudness of the boys.  It seemed unfair to me because where would they go.  They want to go outside, but they can’t go alone because there’s an ungated pool out there and Evan still had a minor issue with dogs even if this one had one foot in the grave and the other on the banana peel, which meant she worried more about that than playing with some puppies, even if they played her favorite game of soccer.  Go ask your-.

What am I doing?  I’m their mother.  They’re my boys.  They will only be this age once, and one day they won’t ask me to play with them.  They won’t want me to play with them.  How will I feel then?  How will i feel when I look back and see that a stupid video game was more important?  What will they remember?  Today they want ME to play with them.  They want ME to go outside with them.  Besides don’t I need to lose a few pounds, get some fresh air, teach them to kick a ball correctly because I forgot to sign them up for sports class again.

Come on, guys.  Grab the ball.  Put on your shoes.  We have rosebuds to gather as we may.

We danced outside, chasing the ball, kicking the ball, dodging the ball.  We ran, jumped, hopped, walked.  I tackled Evan to give Sean a chance, teaching him to take turns as I tickled him without mercy.  I taught them to ring around a rosey and to find shapes in the clouds.  They figured out it was hilarious to watch Mommy try to get a ball out of a pool without a net. 

I didn’t care if I missed my game or that no one else joined us.  They were my boys, and I wouldn’t miss this for the world.

Reasons to stare at the wall than play Candy Land

My dad hated playing Candy Land.  I never understood why.  Until now.

 

1) Everyone wants the same color gingerbread man.  Every time.  It doesn’t matter if Sean’s favorite color is blue and Evan’s is read.  If the other had it first, then the second needs it NOW.

2) Sean must have more than one.  Evan finds this unfair.  I don’t care as long as it keeps the peace.

3) Evan must have every gingerbread man piece lined up just so, even if Sean is not going to play with the game.

4) Evan must make up an elaborate story before the first card is drawn.  Woe to those who try to play without listening to the long winded story.

5) Sean, who was once satisfied to just play with his pieces by himself and occasionally tornado through the game board, which gave me an opportunity to use my awesome visual memory, wants to pull cards too.

6) Sean: Blue!

Me: No, Sean.  Red.  That’s red.

Sean: Blue!

Me: No, Sean.  That’s orange.

Sean: Blue!

Me: Good job, Sean.  Blue.

Sean: Blue!

Me: No, Sean.  That’s green.  Grrrreeeeeennnnn.

7)Evan must make up a story about every move, every person, every color, every square, every picture, every move.

8)Evan: And this guy said hello.  He liked red, but he didn’t like blue.  Or green.  Just red.  And he said, “Look at those squares.  There is a red one and a blue one and a green one and a yellow one and an orange one.”  And he jumped to the red one because he liked red.  He said to the kids, “Come follow me.”  And they followed him.  There was a little girl, a little boy, another little girl, and another boy.  They sat at the- What’s this called again?  Oh, yeah.  The gingerbread tree, and they said, “Hello, gingerbread tree.” And he said . . .”

9) Evan has to ask the same questions over and over and over.

10) Evan: What’s that, Mommy?

Sean: Blue!

Me: That’s a peppermint beaver.  No, Sean.  That’s orange.

Evan: Oh, and what’s he doing?

Me: Cutting down-

Sean: Blue!

Me:- candy canes.  No, Sean.  That’s yellow.

Evan: And who’s that?

Sean: Blue!

Me: Mr. Mint.  No, that’s yellow again.  Same card I think.

Evan: What’s that?

Me: A peppermint beaver.

Sean: Blue!

11) Evan thinks that double squares actually mean three squares.  The first one doesn’t count.

12) Evan wants to go down the bridges, back and forth and without landing on them.

13) Sean is obsessed with ice cream.

Sean: Cream!  Cream!  (after he moved my head to look, pointing at the ice cream palace.)

14) Does any one remember when it was Princess Lolly, daughter of the King of Candy Land?

15) Evan: Mommy, what’s that?

Me: (How many times do I have to tell you it’s) The Chocolate Swamp.

16) Evan doesn’t want to keep drawing cards and is surprised he didn’t win as soon as he usually does; while, I kick myself for not stacking the cards And stacking the cards.

17) After finally making it to the chocolate monster, Evan wants to visit the peanut area.  And read the story.  And ask me more questions.  And tell me more stories.

18) Sean decides he wants to move the board.

19) Candy Land ends the way Monopoly used to end at my parents’ house when I was a kid.  Game pieces were thrown, cards scattered, and Mom yelling to quit it.

20) Evan wants to put away the board before Sean does.  Crying resumes.

21) Evan decides he wants a lollypop.  No, a candy cane.  No, chocolate.  How about some ice cream? 

Sure you do, kid.  That was the whole point of the game.  But I guarantee you, I need it more than you.

Sean: Blue!

I like it hot, hot, hot

Me: Ah, it’s nice and cool in the shade.

Evan: I like it in the hot sun because I like hot, spicy things because I like red and yellow.

 

We’ll see how much you like the hot sun when it’s 112 degrees out, little dude.

What’s in a name?

Me: I don’t know.  I think he’s still playing M’s video game.

My Mom: The food’s getting cold.  The boys are ready to eat.

Evan: Chawles isn’t here.  Let’s just pray with out him.

Silence as we all stare at Evan because we never get used to him saying things like that.

Me: Daddy.  Daddy isn’t here, and we will wait for him before we pray and eat.

 

Evan learned his father’s name early on and uses it to his advantage.  The other day he called for my dad by his first name in a perfect mimic of the way my mom yells the name across the house, so we were curious to find out if he knew any one else’s name.

Grandma: Evan, do you know my name?

Evan: Linda.

Grandma: Good job.  Did you hear Grandma-Great call me that?

Evan: She calls you that when she’s mad at you.

Me: And when Grandma-Great is happy.

Evan: And when Grandma-Great is happy!

Grandma: Do you know mommy’s name?

Evan: Mommy –(Last Name)!

Brother, Where are you?

Returning from an errand with my mom, I tried to collect my boys from my parents’ house, but as the TV was blaring cartoons, neither boy was interested in moving, much less leaving to have a boring lunch and a boring nap.  I clicked off the TV.

Me: Time to go.  We need to eat lunch.

Evan: But I want to stay with Papi and Grandma.  Papi said I could.

I looked at my dad, who shrugged.

Me: We’ll be back for dinner.  Come on.  Let’s go.

Evan: I would rather stay here.

Would rather?  I better start dumbing down my language.  There I did with the word, dumbing.

Me: Aren’t you hungry?  We’re having hot dogs.

Sean: Hot?  Hot!  Hot!

Sean grabbed Papi’s hand and led him down the hallway to the foyer.  I looked over at my mom for help.

Grandma: It’s fine with me.  We don’t have any plans.

Evan: I’m fine.  You can go now.

Sean: (from the door) Hot!  Hot!  Hot!

Me: If it’s all right with you.  Seanny’s hungry.

Grandma: And wants hot dogs.

Me: Bye, Mom.

I ran to catch up with Sean and my dad.  Sean had banged on the door until Papi opened it, and then Sean pulled Papi to the car and then banged on it.  I clicked the doors unlocked.  My dad put Sean into his seat.

Sean: (pointing at the floor) Ra!  Ra!  Ra!

Papi: Roar!  Good job, Seanny.

Me: No, it’s ra, not roar, Dad.  Here Sean.  Here’s the rocket!

Sean: (reaching for the rocket) Ra!  RA!  RA!

My dad grabbed the rocket and started to play with it, causing Sean to whine and yell RA louder.  My dad whooshed it into Sean’s hands.

Sean: Ra!  Hot!

Me: Ok.  Ok.  Bye, Dad.  See you in a couple hours.

I jumped in the car.  I rolled down the back windows.

Sean: Bye!  Bye!  Byyyyyyeeeeee!

I drove off, trying to sing “Rocket Run.”  It was pretty awful if I do say so my self.  But Sean liked to try counting down with me, by repeating “two, eight.”

Sean: Two.  Eight.  Two.  Eight.  Two!  T-  Brathr? Brathr?  (looks over at the empty car seat) Brathr! 

Sean started to cry about half a mile away from my parents’ house.  The red lights took forever as I tried to reassure Sean that Evan was fine and at Grandma and Papi’s house.  AND WHY is that idiot not typing the damn code for the gate?!  And where is Tinker Bell when you need her? 

We pulled up the driveway with a crying Sean, desperate for his brother.  I plunked him down on the coach, turning on the cartoons as I was desperate for some sort of quiet.  Sean stopped crying to watch; while, I made his lunch of hot dogs, cheese, and raisins.  We ate on a towel, watching cartoons, pretending we were on a picnic.  Sean discovered the joys of raisins and marshmallows dipped in ketchup.  I was just glad he didn’t offer me any.

By naptime, Sean was too tired to care about Evan and fell fast asleep.

When Sean awoke, he was greeted by the usual cheerful excitement of his mom.  I cuddled him, played with him, got him juice and a snack.  For forty-five minutes, Sean was the only child, relishing the attention.  But then he remembered that Evan usually wakes from naptime before he does.

Sean: Brathr!  Brathr!

Sean looked around.  He toddled to the bedroom.  He looked up at the top bunk.

Sean: (pointing to the top bunk) Brathr!

Sean climbed the ladder and jumped into the bed to wrestle his sleeping brother awake.  But there was no brother.  Seeing that he was looking down on his mommy, Sean played and teased me with smiles.  Then he remembered again.  He lifted the pile of comforter to see if his brother was hiding.  But he was not.  So Sean got down.

Sean: Dada? Dada?

Sean toddled to the office, grabbing his daddy’s hand.  He pulled his Daddy out of the office and to the front door, where Sean tried to open the locked door.

Sean: Dada?  Mama?

The husband and I exchanged looks.

The husband: Let’s see where this goes.

I unlocked the door.  Sean opened it, dragging his daddy behind him.  Sean pulled his daddy to the car where he banged on the door.

Me: I guess he’s ready to go.

The husband: Ok, Sean.  Let Daddy put on a new shirt and shoes, and we’ll go.

The husband let go of Sean’s hand and ran inside. 

Me: Seanny, we have to get shoes on.  Shoes.  I need to get my purse and the diaper bag.  Come on.

Sean:  WAIT!  NO!

He grabbed my hand and walked me to the street.  He looked both ways and walked into the street.  Still holding my hand, Sean started walking down the street towards Grandma and Papi’s house, where Evan was, as though Sean was in a car.

Me: Come on, Sean.  Let’s get ready.  It’ll be faster if we take the car.

I scooped up Sean and got us ready, leaving five minutes later.  It turns out Evan didn’t miss us one bit.